The Invisible Man
by Seshat3
Summary: Nick faces a seemingly impossible case. This fic is in response to a Song Fic challenge but it doesn't read like a song fic, trust me :D


_A/N: __The author of this work does not, in any way, profit from the story. All creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s). __**CSI:Crime Scene Investigation**__ is the property of CBS_

_This story was written in response to a Song Fic challenge in which participants were given a song chosen at random, then had two weeks to write a fic of no more than 2000 words. This is my fic. Enjoy! Comments are always welcome! _

**The Invisible Man**

"Shit!"

Nick cursed loudly then bit his lip to keep from cursing again. Hands on his hips he shook his head at Archie who looked just as frustrated.

"Sorry Nick. The email is untraceable. I've tried every tracking program I can think of, but it comes back from a random place each time."

"Rome. Johannesburg. Bangor. Malmö," Nick read from the print out, "there's no way it could have come from any of these cites. Man, I haven't even heard of some of these places!" Nick sighed loudly, running a hand over his closely cropped hair.

"Thanks Archie. You did what you could."

Nick strode out of the AV lab, jaw set with determination. Case file in hand he went straight to Grissom to appraise him on this latest development.

***

The day had started just like any other for Nick. He'd gotten a few hours sleep before he was up and getting his errands done. He clung to the usual daily routines that kept him sane in a world of death and madness. Folding laundry, washing dishes, cleaning the bathroom, they were all human things to do. Nick did them all with a light heart, having decided long ago that everyday chores were a part of what separated him from the monsters he encountered in his work.

He was just putting his shoes on when he got the call to head straight for a crime scene instead of the lab. Grabbing his ever ready kit, he pulled on his vest over his t-shirt, grabbed his cap and settled it familiarly on his head. Satisfied his house was in order he nodded once to himself, then stepped outside into the Vegas heat.

The crime scene was at least an hour's drive, but Nick took his time. In the late afternoon with the sun still high in the sky and the city somnolent with the heat the drive was almost peaceful.

Almost; until he drove into a rundown area of Vegas, full of dilapidated houses and broken men and women shuffling along the streets. Nick had to keep his heart hard but he wasn't unaffected to see such abject misery in the world. Shaking his head he kept driving until he reached the address he'd been given. The crime scene was an abandoned motel and as Nick drove up he noted two squad cars parked outside, cops standing guard around a door on the ground floor.

The motel room was uncomfortably muggy, thick with the scent of blood. Nick tensed his tongue against his teeth at the copper tang in the air. It was a taste he had never gotten used to, and privately hoped he never would. Years of experience had given him a strong stomach so he stepped further into the room, snapping his gloves on as he surveyed the scene with an investigators eye.

The male victim was slumped on the floor in front of the closet door. The back of his neck was smeared with brain matter and blood, the mess seeping down from the wound to pool around his head, soaking through the cheap carpet. From the damage Nick knew right away he had been shot at short range, execution style.

Crouching on his haunches Nick studied the body, nose crinkling at the smell. The stench of death was a combination of blood, excrement and urine that nearly always permeated a crime scene. This scene was different, the scent more pungent. The obviously homeless man had that unwashed smell of old sweat about him that hung in the air like a miasma.

He was old, or it seemed he was old though it was impossible to tell for sure under the grime. Long hair matted with blood hung in greasy hanks across his face and scalp. His clothing was mismatched, torn and beyond filthy. His shoes were falling apart, the left runner tied together with string across the sole and instep, the right in nearly as bad shape.

Nick couldn't help but wonder what had brought the man to this place and this death. He cocked his head, peering at the victim's wound then lifted his eyes to gaze at the scene in the mirror attached to the closet door. It came to him then, in a flash of understanding that he had learned to trust as his instinct.

In the mirror, the victim had been forced to face both his death and his executioner at the same time.

Nick stood, staring down at the body while processing the scene in his mind. He had a quiet way of going about his work, quite the opposite of absentminded he was often so deep in thought that he missed people coming and going around him.

"Hey Nick, I got here as soon as I could."

Nick whirled to face Dave Philips just coming into the room.

"Just got here myself Dave," Nick replied, moving away from the body as the portly coroner approached and knelt to begin his work.

***

Five hours later Nick was finished, the room was processed and covered in finger print powder. Sketches were done, photographs logged and blood samples sealed away. The body was gone having been transported back to the morgue. Nick closed his kit with a sigh, resisting the urge to slam the lid down.

Nothing.

Not one shred of evidence to be found. No fingerprints, no shoeprints, no fibres or trace elements. The room had been wiped clean and he was left with a single pool of dried blood and gore.

Nick sighed deeply as he surveyed the room; the autopsy was now his last hope.

Nodding at the police officer stationed in the room Nick walked out into the darkness of Vegas night. Leaving the cop to seal the door he took his kit to the Denali dreading telling Grissom he had nothing to report.

***

"You didn't find anything?" Grissom's voice was incredulous.

Nick shifted uncomfortably under Grissom's piercing gaze. Somehow his supervisor always had a way of making him feel like he was a kid in the principals office. Not that he had been sent there very often. In fact, he'd been marched down the long hall only once. He was 15 and it was after he had punched Billy Gardiner in the stomach for calling his sister a sissy. Of course his sister was a sissy but only Nick was allowed to call her that, no way was he going to let someone else get away with it.

Nick shook his head to clear his thoughts as he realised Grissom was still staring at him. Shifting in his chair he tried not to blush.

"Scene's been wiped clean. Whoever did it, knew what they were doing."

"And the autopsy results?"

"Single gunshot, execution style. There is one thing though. The vic's fingerprints got a hit off AFIS related to an unsolved burglary gone wrong a couple of months ago. Our John Doe's fingerprints were all over the scene, includin' the murder weapon." Nick flipped open his file as he spoke, pulling out the report and holding it out over the desk.

Grissom took the report and was about to speak when his phone rang. Shooting Nick an annoyed look he picked it up, tossing his glasses lightly to the desk as he did.

Nick half listened to the short conversation, eyes wandering around Grissom's office. It was like a game each time he went in; try to spot the difference. The room was constantly changing. Bugs, experiments and books appeared and disappeared with frightening regularity. The good old standbys were still there and somehow Nick got the feeling they always would be. The spider and the pig were two of his favourites and he always felt relieved to see them. Not for the first time Nick felt like he should give them names, then shivered as a chill ran up his spine for no apparent reason.

His wandering attention snapped back to Grissom who hung up the phone with a clatter. The uneasy feeling was quickly forgotten as Nick leaned forward.

"Brass is on his way. Apparently the killer emailed him. With details," Grissom's expression was grim.

Nick felt his heart plummet to his shoes. With a clean crime scene and no evidence to be found, being taunted by the killer was the last thing he needed.

***

The breakroom table was full of photographs and papers scattered over the surface. It was the only room in the lab available with an empty tabletop, so Nick and Grissom now sat across from each other, studying their case.

The next step in their investigation was to dissect the untraceable email, word by word and hope somehow they would get a break. Some clue into the mind of their killer.

Grissom set his pen down and sat back to listen intently while Nick read the email aloud one more time.

_The man in the mirror was insane. He mumbled numbers. Never spoke. __H__e talks in maths. He buzzes like a fridge, he's like a detuned radio. Shuffling along. Unjudged. Unclean. Invisible. I know what he did. For that he deserved to die. Watching his death. Watching me. Karma comes for us all, I am merely its instrument. Arrest this man? Kill him! This is what you get, when you mess with us. I've given all I can, it's not enough. _

"Who's the Radiohead fan?" Greg asked, coming into the breakroom as Nick finished reading..

"Huh?" Nick looked up from the table, "what's a radiohead?"

Greg gave him a look as if he'd lost his own head. "Radiohead the band. That's Karma Police you're reading." Flicking the switch on the kettle he opened a cupboard door and grabbed a pack of instant noodles from his stash.

"It's a song?" Nick raised an eyebrow and peered at Greg, slightly disbelieving but willing to grasp at any straw to solve the case. So focused was he that he didn't make his usual comment about Greg's eating habits, turning to Grissom instead.

"What does it mean...._I've given all I can, it's not enough_?"

"I think it means our guy isn't finished." Grissom pushed his chair back from the table as he spoke, punching numbers into his phone as he walked out. Any suspicious email Captain Brass got would be forwarded to the lab the instant it hit his account.

Nick stood and grabbed the papers scattered over the table. He needed to find Archie, maybe they could analyze the email and the lyrics, get them one step closer to the killer.

"Thanks Greg," he threw over his shoulder as he left the room. He didn't see Greg shrug in response or hear the young man start to sing the song to himself, bopping his head as he stirred his noodles.

***

Nick stood in the AV lab, watching over Archie's shoulder as the Radiohead video played once again on the monitor. No matter how many times they watched the video and listened to the lyrics, they were still empty handed. The frustration had Nick agitated and moody.

"Pause there," he nearly snapped, pointing at the screen.

Archie knew not to take it personally, wanted to get the killer as much as Nick did. Unfortunately the Radiohead video they'd found online wasn't helping. The lyrics were benign; it was only the twisted mind of a vigilante killer that found murder in the music.

"There's gotta be somethin'," Nick muttered almost to himself.

"Nick," Grissom stood at the door of the lab, his expression grave. The two men turned away from their footage to face him. Nick shook his head with regret and started to explain they hadn't found anything yet. Grissom stopped him with a hand held up in front of him.

"We've got another body."

Nick stiffened in anger while Archie shook his head with regret. The room fell silent as each man digested the news. The silence didn't last long as moments later Archie's computer pinged with the ominous sound of an incoming email.

"Shit."


End file.
